


The Origins of Power

by ASOUEfan



Series: The Origins Series [1]
Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: (Just a little bit), Caning, F/F, Lesbian Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Control, Pet!Reader, Restraints, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:29:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22387228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASOUEfan/pseuds/ASOUEfan
Summary: Pre-Apocalypse, pre-Ties that Bind Us.(semi) by request from dreamypixels, who wanted to see some adventures of Miss Venable and the reader being happy.So this is their origin story.Drinking alone on her birthday, Wilhemina Venable is determined not to go home alone. So when she sees a spark of potential in you, she's determined to cultivate it, and is surprised by what willingness she finds.
Relationships: Wilhemina Venable/Original Female Character(s), Wilhemina Venable/You, wilhemina venable/reader
Series: The Origins Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691551
Comments: 17
Kudos: 125





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> … because yeah I couldn't leave them alone and after the end of the Ties that Bind Us either! I needed to write something happy too! This will likely become part of a series. (of adventures).
> 
> I just needed to write something light before concentrating on the sequel of Say it Again. Which is in production.

“You’re late,” A gruff voice greets you as you rush behind the bar. Throwing yourself through the swing door to the staff room you wrestle your arms out your leather jacket, dump your bag and race back out front. Your manager puts his hands in his trouser pockets watching you with a disgruntled frown. Carrying your apron in your jaws you struggle to tie up your long hair off the shirt collar, returning to the front of the bar to make your apologies.

“I know I know, I got here as fast I could,” You hastily reply, snatching the apron from your mouth and tying the grey square around your waist. You didn't understand the point of it in the first place, its not like drinks would only ever land on your crotch if you spilled one.

He jabs his finger toward the steaming silver machine beneath the bar. “Dishwashers done and needs emptying. You’re lucky its still quiet in here.” He barked, shaking his head at you and disappearing out the back towards his office.

“It wont happen again,” You mutter, sighing to yourself. _Great start to the evening._

The bar was quiet, and you’re grateful its a Tuesday and not a Friday that your lecture ran over, causing you to miss your bus and set the whole schedule askew for the rest of the night. You had it all timed and well practised, how many minutes it took from the lecture hall to the bus stop, what time the bus came, how long it took you to change clothes, all of it. The precision of your timetable made you feel secure, as if you knew where you were meant to be at any given time.

One alteration to the plan though, and you were lost. Managing two jobs and college was a handful, but you had no choice, you wanted to graduate without a lifetime of debt hanging over your head. You just had to hold your nerve in the meantime, fill up your schedule with work, library time and lectures, knowing then you wouldn't notice all the fun everyone else seemed to be having that you were not.

You didn't feel the loneliness if you were busy. 

You’ve emptied half the dishwasher before anyone wants you, only one woman sitting at the bar. She knocks the wooden counter top with something, making you glance her way. _Is that a cane?_

Using two fingers she pushes her glass forward to your side of the bar, in a slow, hypnotic sort of fashion. You tuck the kitchen towel in the string of your apron and wander down summoning a smile, you are at work after all.

But as you get closer, you found you didn't need to force your smile, for it was blossoming naturally. She had starkly metallic red hair, bold and vibrant from root to tip, styled in a tight ponytail with slight twists over her head that made her hairline curve. Rounded thin rimmed glasses widened her face slightly, making the angle of her cheekbone and chin stronger; sophisticated burnt brown make up calming the ensemble, nestled between the red hair and _very,_ purple skirt suit. She was unusual and remarkable all at once, and you felt a quiver in your chest somewhere. “What’re you having?” You ask with a bounce to your voice you recognise immediately. _God, you were flirting._

The woman stares at you intently, then tilts her head, just a touch. “Same again.”

Her words sound like a challenge.

You huff, taking the glass all the while holding her gaze. “Oh I just got here. Shift change,” You reply, feeling your cheeks heat. She had to be what, early-thirties? Something corporate. Those were the only types you got in here, it wasn’t a student hangout and you’d lamely thought that if you could network while earning a few bucks, you could somehow make the hours useful, catch people in their downtime, make contacts. It hadn’t worked of course.

Wilhemina shifted on the cushioned stool, her back not allowing much time before having to alter her position to keep it from aching. She changed her posture to the side to cross one leg over the other, her calf teasing a little from under her skirt. “You’re a bar maid. You should know your clients.”

She wasn’t going to let this drop. “Thats true. We do have some regulars. But I don't think I’ve seen you before.” You twirl her glass round and round in your hand, checking quickly up and down the bar that there was no-one else waiting, which mercifully, there wasn’t.

“Are you sure?” Her voice lilted playfully. _Was she, flirting back?_ Your fingertips start to tingle, wondering if this is all your over active imagination after a boring day of class with little social contact. You might be half way through your first year already, but that didn't guarantee you had made many friends. You had housemates, of course, but they were only friends by proximity rather than you having anything in common with them. People didn't tend to understand you.

You nod, unable to withhold the shyness with which you say it. “I’d remember.” 

At that she lets out a few beats of laughter, almost mocking but her expression has cracked, and is smiling at you. “So casual,” She teases. 

You lift her glass to your lips, sniffing its depths not taking your eyes off her. _Fine, lets play._ “Whisky?” You dare an answer.

You’re rewarded with a small smirk. “Whisky sour.”

“Coming right up.” Your chest blooms. Thank _fuck_ you know one spirit from another.

Her attention turns away across the room, surveying it with a silent sort of disdain. Groups of suited men jostle and laugh over some shared joke, only a few women in the bar at all. They hang in the groups or sit one-to-one with another man, their tight dresses revealing too much, selling themselves earlier in the evening than they should. _Pathetic,_ Wilhemina sighs.

For all her efforts of late, she had garnered little reward. Kineros was ticking over nicely, the boys (as she called them) were kept busy with programming errors that were coming back from a few clients, having been sold extra functions on their robots, _special_ functions that Mutt and Jeff would have to take care of _personally_. She abhorred the sexual side of their business enterprise, but thankfully it was only a select client here and there that demanded it. Most robotics was voice programming and algorithms that could predict peoples buying preferences or answer basic questions in a realistic manner.

Things were comfortable, unchallenging, and _boring_. Wilhemina needed something; the only fun she was having of late was torturing her intern, but even that was nowhere near enough to ease her restless mind, for the girl was a lame duck in a very big pond and insulting her was just _too easy_.

It was her birthday today, and Wilhemina was determined to find something to amuse herself with.

Having made up her drink, you lay a fresh napkin on the bar and place the glass on it. You have the crazy thought of putting a little purple umbrella in it, just to see if it makes her smile again, but you restrain yourself. “Here you go, do you have a tab?” You call her attention, keeping it professional.

She lets her gaze fall over you, thoughtful, as if contemplating the possibility. “No. I wasn’t sure how long my evening was going to last,” Miss Venable replies truthfully, sliding herself from the stool to retrieve her pale lilac handbag from the floor. Its only then when she has to lean over, her movement looking rigid and awkward - that you allow yourself to stretch up onto your toes to peek over the bar and watch her, and you realise it really _is_ a cane she's leaning on. She straightens, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder and places the bag on the counter as you shift your weight back onto your heels, hoping she didn't notice your staring. _Maybe you want her to notice._

Unclipping her bag she unzips her purse and hands you a twenty, not bothering to ask how much it costs. She watches as you turn to the back of the bar, ringing her order through the till, giving her time to lower her eyes and take all of you in at once. Worn out grey boots, tights, jean shorts and a black shirt, the combination was slimming and flattering; not _altogether_ unattractive. Certainly not what she was used to, but then, none of her usual conquests had worked out of late, so why not something younger, greener? It was her birthday after all.

Miss Venable holds out her hand, waiting with a tight lipped expression, as you turn back around and see her expectant look. It stills you a minute, a small nervous laugh escaping your lips before dropping the coins into her waiting palm. Her skin was covered by deep purple leather gloves, fingerless, like some victorian pickpocket. “So, are you waiting for someone?” You ask boldly, leaning your hips to the edge of the bar, forgetting your work entirely.

She tips the coins safely into her purse and stows it back away. “No.”

“Drinking alone?”

Her eyebrow quirks at you, playing affronted by such intonation, and you realise what you’ve said - how bad you’ve made it sound. Your anxieties prickle up your back, you’ve blown it and you only had an outside shot at this anyway, whatever _this_ , is. Or was. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean - of course theres nothing wrong with -“

“I’m not alone,” She cuts in, curling her fingers around the glass and lifting it to her lips. She takes a small sip, then tinkles the ice back and for in the glass as she replies. “I’m talking to you.”

“Yes, well…” You laugh nervously. “At your service.”

Your obvious attraction causes a ripple in Miss Venable’s gut. You were affected by her discontentment, and that was interesting. “You’re studying?” She plays with her cane, catching it on the foot-bar of the stool, unable to reach the floor from the slightly higher elevation. That didn’t stop her habitual movements however, like how young people kept their cell phones in their hands tapping away as if the world would fall to pieces if it were misplaced; she too had her security blanket, though it served physical function not a psychological dependancy.

You nod, idly wiping the bar with the towel to make it look like you’re doing something. “Yes. Business Economics and Finance.”

“Sounds dull.” Wilhemina puts the glass to her lips again, coyly watching you over the rim of her glass. Her staring is obvious, direct. She's not trying to hide it.

“It is,” You mumble, and drop your eyes feeling slightly intimidated. The way she was looking at you was, _intoxicating._ Powerful.

She keeps sipping her whisky, waiting for you to find the confidence to bring your gaze up again. When you do, she’s still staring and your cheeks blush of their own accord. You almost forget where you are until your manager walks out the swing door at the other end of the bar and you hastily start wiping the counter again, though there is nothing to clean away.

“Let your hair out,” Miss Venable says suddenly, demanding your attention back.

You blink. “What?

“You heard me.”

Your heartbeat quickens. You’re working; at any moment someone could want a drink or order a round of shots for their mates and your hair would be everywhere, your boss could walk back through to the office and see you looking a mess. But somehow you sense that any of these excuses wouldn’t be accepted, and whether you trust your instincts or not, you don't want her to be disappointed enough that she leaves the bar, or for this strange back-and-forth to come to an end.

You lift your arm, hooking your finger into the hair elastic and tug it down, pulling your ponytail undone and shaking your hair out, slipping the thing over your wrist for later.

Wilhemina tilts her head, the ghost of a smile chasing across her lips. You didn't know her, you had no reason to do what she asked, but you did, and this intrigued Miss Venable greatly. Your hair tumbled messily around your shoulders, paling your skin a little for your hair was dyed as well though not professionally, that she could tell. “Better,” She murmured.

You smile to yourself. Somehow, her approval made you feel better. Sexier than you’ve ever felt.

“What time do you finish?” Her words interrupt your gleeful thoughts, crashing you down to the ground with an anxious spike. _Was she asking -_

“Wha-uh, you mean my shift?” Your words muddle. “Midnight.”

Wilhemina draws up the sleeve of her lilac blazer, checking her watch, then purses her lips with alittle grate of her teeth. Its longer than she would have liked to wait, but you’re an exciting proposition. You’d done as you were told with little persuasion, your mood shifted according to her response to you. You were willing to make yourself feel a little uncomfortable to please her, and that was all she needed to see. “I suggest you open a tab, after all. It seems I’ve time for a few more.”

——————

The bar had gotten busier through the evening, and you’d been able to spend less time with the mysterious lilac woman. You rushed your duties as much as you could while not messing up the rounds of drinks for the increasingly drunken corporate masses, wanting to check in that she was okay, still there, did she need another drink, it wouldn’t be much longer. As time ticked on the more worried you were that she would get bored and leave early, or that one of the men that had since tried their luck with her, would spark her interest more than you and somehow you would be forgotten.

But each and every time, 3 times in fact - _you’d counted_ , she had rebuffed them and they sloped away again looking brow beaten and a little humiliated.

You were concentrating on a 6-glass long row of tequila shots, the bottle upside down in your hand as you filled each one moving on to the next, and the next, when you felt a hand in the small of your back. “Hey, hows its been?” You glance up, knowing the voice and the tiresome conversation that was about to begin all over again.

“Oh hey Tom, you’re here.” Your smile fake. You busy yourself finishing off the shots and lifting the tray onto the bar for the waiting customer.

Wilhemina sits up a little taller, not that her back allows her to straighten, but she can stretch her neck subtly - his easy manner with you disconcerting. She gripped her glass tumbler a little tighter.

“Working a double tonight?” He asked, between button taps on the till, trying to be helpful - or at least get in your way enough that you would be forced to answer him. He took the handful of money from the waiting customer glancing to you with a keen smile. Tom had asked you out before, and each time you’d tried to be polite about it, without dropping the blunt remark of _I’m into girls,_ but his persistence wasn’t getting the hint. Your unease was painted across your features, shuffling around him through the narrow space of the bar to clean up the pool of tequila you’d made on the counter. 

“No, finishing now actually. You’re my take-over,” You say a little too pointedly, untying your apron and shoving it in your back pocket. Miss Venable listens carefully, opening her mouth to knock back the rest of her drink, and bangs her empty glass on the counter. She’d been waiting for this, she wasn’t about to let you get distracted now.

Your eyes flick to her, nodding and moving around the boy to speak to her. It was midnight. She was still here and it was time to go and he was getting in your way. Your mind raced, unsettled, nervous, desperate to get out of there and take her hand and maybe, _maybe_ have an awesome time with a gorgeous woman but every time you tried to get to the till you felt his hand on your hip again as if being chivalrous letting you pass.

“Oh, shame,” He sighs. “I thought we could go to that all night burger place down the road?"

 _NO._ Your mind shouts, but you just shake your head. “I’m sorry. I’m not - “ 

Miss Venable knocks the bar purposefully with her cane, her voice stern and demanding. “I need to settle my tab.” She wasn’t wiling to watch any more of this teenage melodrama nonsense. She’d marked you out hours ago, you were hers for the night and the mere idea that this child could stand in her way outraged her.

Tom steps in your way. “Sure, I can take care of that for you.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” She snaps.

“O-okay…,” He holds his hand up as if surrendering to a firing squad.

You ease him to one side, your grateful smile to this woman too obvious but you don't care. She just _owned him._ She was incredible _._ “I can do it,” You take her waiting 50 dollar note, your eyes smiling and she just nods with understanding.

Tom scratches his hand through his hair, looking a bit lost. Another customer waves his hand to catch your attention, and you give Tom a nudge indicating him to go sort it out.

“I’ll just fetch my stuff - ?” You ask, returning her change checking as subtly as you can that whatever it was she had intimated at earlier, was really happening. For really, neither of you had said what, _this_ was going to be. You’d barely flirted, she’d told you to take your hair out and…proceeded to sit at the bar the rest of the night until you were done working.

What was supposed to happen now?

She steps off the bar stool, righting the lilac silk bow at the front of her blouse, laying it neatly between the lapels of her blazer as she talks. “Oh, take your time. Its not as if I’ve waited the whole night for you,” She drawls sarcastically, giving you a look like a headmistress, that she's not best pleased but she's done it now and you had better be worth the wait.

You nod, saying nothing as you slip past Tom, jogging down the bar and through the swing doors to the staff room, shoving the apron into your bag and trying to collect your nerves. How had she done that to you so quickly? One sentence and you were on edge. You catch sight of yourself in the mirror, and realise you hair is still down - all this time. You huff, run your fingers through it quickly and wipe the pad of your thumb under your eye trying to correct the smudged eyeliner, but theres no time to re-do it.

Jostling through the now crowded bar you find her waiting by the glass doors to the street, she was at least obvious enough in the top-to-toe purple that you couldn’t lose sight of her. You swing on the heavy door holding it open gallantly, letting her take the lead.

She was a real woman, you were just a student and she probably knew far better places to go than you. She was probably more experienced than you, she was certainly confident enough in her pick-up.

Your worries fidget themselves in the back of your mind. Sure you’d been with girls. You’d had a girlfriend in high-school. But this was different. What if you were no good at it?

You yank your arms through the worn out - but as far you’re concerned, _cool_ leather jacket, hooking your bag across your back trying not to look at her cane. “So, where do you want to go?” You chirrup excitedly, tucking your hands into the high an impractical pockets.

Miss Venable comes to stand beside you, the darkness of the night-time eclipsed by the brilliant sheen of street-lamps stationed every few metres along the street. It was a safe part of town for that reason, and therefore her preferred location - when she wasn’t in a _different_ kind of bar entirely. “Where do you live?” Miss Venable asked straight, cutting right to it.

You swallow your nervous energy, you could barely believe this was happening, that you’d read her right, that she’d been interested _at all._ “Uh, upper west side. I share an apartment with a couple of people from university.”

Your words soured her expression. “You mean, you don’t have your own place?”

You shake your head, sensing her disappointment. “No, I would - of course … I’d prefer it. But the prices in the City are pretty outrageous,” You try to explain, begging this not to be the end. Why did you hang so much on her every word? She was a striking woman to be sure but her manner was direct, infectious, as though her words had tendrils that were wrapping themselves around your very soul, taking root inside of you. “This is, probably going to sound ridiculous but I haven't even asked your name.”

She sucked her lower lip, amused. You were swept away, adrift, the same as she was. She simply controlled it better and knew what was happening. “Wilhemina Venable.” Her cane knocks the pavement, her grip tightening inconspicuously. She needed to play with you, bend and strike you until this urgency biting at her heels was tamed. “Hail a taxi then, or are we going to continue simply standing here.”

You can’t help the nervous laugh. She didn't mess around. “To my apartment?”

Miss Venable gives you a disparaging look. “No. To mine.”


	2. Chapter 2

You follow her silently through the impressive facade of her apartment building, watching and observing every little thing about her that you can. She wore stylish heels despite the slow swing to her gait, a tailored blazer with pronounced shoulders, and a curiously intricate gold buckle to her belt that gave her figure some accentuation. She was fascinating and other-worldly, and wholly incomprehensible all at once. It didn't help you one jot in trying to work her out.

What was the cane for? Why did she have a thing about purple? How was a woman like her even single at her age? What did she see in you that had her so _hooked_ she would waste her evening alone at the bar, until you were finished working?

Wilhemina - _could you call her that now?_ \- had offered little to no conversation and it seemed to only function in making your nerves worse. You knew nothing about this woman. If she had been a man then you would’ve warned yourself against such an encounter, but somehow, you feel as if you had been waiting for this evening to happen your whole life.

Of all the things that had to happen; your swapped shift, your lecture running late, the bar to be quiet and her interest to hold firm through a 2 hour wait, none of that happened by chance. Thats what you told yourself anyway, as you shuffled into the elevator beside her.

You notice her well manicured nail as she depresses the elevator button. This end of town, a single woman with money spare enough to have a manicure; your interest climbed by the minute. What did she do? How could you get a job like that? Perhaps this was going to be the contact you needed to kick your career off. _Or a relationship_. Even now when you haven't gotten to her apartment yet, you dare yourself to think about such distant possibilities.

You feel a childish sense of hope. You’d seen your housemates couple up, then un-couple again, and you wanted to know what that felt like. You keep your eyes on her through all of this, and she fidgets slightly, huffing. “What? Change of heart?”

You shake your head quickly. “Not at all.”

Miss Venable stares, unabashed. “How old are you?” She asks suddenly, tapping her cane lightly on the carpeted elevator floor.

“…19.” You say, wondering what it is she wants hear. The elevator doors roll open and you’re frowning hesitantly. She made no sense at all.

Miss Venable pushes you. “Well?” She almost sounds antagonistic, while looking down the hallway prompting you to step after her again.

You do, traipsing after this confusing woman and hovering behind her as she unlocks her front door. “Its just, you’ve asked how old I am but not my name. Its, weird.”

She doesn’t wait to see if you follow this time, simply going inside and placing her handbag on the kitchen counter. “Names are inter-changeble. They don't hold any meaning.” You slowly shut the door behind you, her keys jangling on the marble work surface as she puts them down. “I could have lied and told you a false name, but it wouldn't have changed your opinion on coming home with me, nor would it inform you anything about me.” Wilhemina articulates with a well reasoned argument, silencing your questions before they could be asked.

Hanging on your bag strap, you chew the inside of your cheek. Looking at her now in her own environment, she seems to fit just perfectly; where before she had seemed almost out of step with the rest of the world. “… _did_ you make your name up?”

“No.”

Your chest heaves a breath you didn't know you had been holding. You don't know why it makes a difference, but its the one thing you know about her and you want it to be real.

Your hear her cane clack on the wooden floor. You’d not noticed it before, when there was so much background noise, and the pavement had been wet, but in this sparse white space it echoed a clear wooden note with each of her steps as she approached you. Her hips sway to their own slow melody, her gaze burning down your body with obvious intent.

Miss Venable halts inches from you, her cane settling between your bodies. “Should I, take my shoes off?” Your words quiver.

Her head tilts curiously, eyes falling to your lips. Hunger rolls hotly out of her chest. “Do you usually fuck with your shoes _on?”_ Miss Venable purrs. Her fingers twitch atop her cane, trying to contain her desire to touch you, now she had you home.

You pull your sleeves over your hands timidly as you laugh, dispelling your agitation. “You’re a very forthright person do you know that?” You blow out a breath and look everywhere but at her, she's too commanding, its intimidating almost.

She grinds her teeth into her bottom lip, not moving an inch. “Better to know what you want, than stumble around in the dark.”

You can’t look back at her, its as if she's boring into your mind somehow and unlocking your secrets, coaxing them out of you. How did someone get so confident? You could never summon such conviction in yourself. “Sometimes I feel like I’m stumbling,” You admit between breaths. You feel her touch for the first time, as Miss Venable brushes a wavy lock of hair from your face.

“What _do_ you want?” Wilhemina murmurs, as she grazes the backs of her fingers down your jaw.

A soft whimper escapes your lips and you shake your head. What did she want from you? Why were you even here? You didn't know this woman -

Her fingers stall under your chin, and tilt your head up just enough. “Tell me.”

An ache awakens between your legs, and you will yourself to take a breath and find your voice. “Purpose.” Her touch falls away, settling on her cane again now she has convinced your trust. “I have college and two jobs and thats a goal but its not … its not … _meaning._ ”

Miss Venable clacks her cane before you have a chance to continue theorising, apparently satisfied with your answer. “Take off your shoes, then.”

You nod silently, dropping your bag off your shoulder and crouching down, pulling at the knot with your nails and loosening the laces, yanking the grey worn leather boot off, then switching your legs around to do the same with the other. You press on your thigh, tensing your muscles to stand back up, but you meet her hand hovering over your shoulder and it pushes you back down. “Now mine.”

Your chest tightens, and a quiet tingling creeps around your whole body, settling between your thighs. You look up at her, _was she serious?_ You’re not sure if you heard her say that, or if your brain made it up.

Wilhemina knows to take her time, she doesn’t want to ruin this before its started by being too eager. She was 34 and had not yet found _that one person_ , that understood her. Perhaps it was you, but she wouldn’t know if you were scared off before she’d even gotten started.

There were girls who _thought_ they liked it, who had read 50 Shades of Grey and thought it was all a bit of fun; girls who wanted her to mother them, and girls who had been on the submissive side of relationships before, to whom she was simply another dom, but of a different gender.

None had been, quite the right fit. One-night stands or short term flings were fine for a while, but they lacked depth and sincerity. Then there were those especially arduous girls that started wanting more from her than she was willing to give, more than they were deserving of. Such depressing thoughts made her body sigh.

So instead Miss Venable holds her focus, raising her eyebrows at you with a softened, expectant expression at you. _Go on._ You take a breath and do as she says, carefully undoing the thin strap on her stiletto heels, one by one then shifting back a little giving her space to step out of them. “Good girl,” She says, smiling.

Her words breathe life to parts of you you’d never fully articulated, your breath being pushed out of you by your stammering heartbeat. _You’d never felt anything like this._ You stay where you are, wondering what you should next. Do you get up? Or are you meant to stay down?

Miss Venable taps her cane gently, watching your decision tick over your in mind, glad to see your uncertainty. If you hesitate, she can add direction. If you were to have gotten right back up without thinking, then you would have likely not been what she was looking for. “There is a wine rack on the far side of the kitchen island. Why don't you fetch yourself a glass?” She suggests, not phrasing it as though you have much of an option.

You shuffle back on your ass so you don't knock into her when you stand, just grateful of knowing what she wants you todo, and that you’ve got a chance to catch up to her level of blood-alcohol percentage before you get thrown in the deep end. “Uh, yeah cool. Okay.” You’re in need of a bit of chemically induced courage, your hands shaking as you hurry to the kitchen doing as you’re told.

“I assume something is needed to calm your nerves?” Miss Venable waits patiently on the spot, stretching her toes out on the warm floor, enjoying her little game of cat and mouse.

You glance back over your shoulder, smiling shyly. “Thanks.” You’re relieved she understands, its more of a concession than you were expecting from her. “I don't really, do this, you know… very often,” You want to explain. That you don't pick up women in bars, especially during work hours, _or at all,_ really. That she’s not just one of many, but special. You slide out the first bottle of white you see, read the label then slide if back in and check the next. Working in the bar had given you sophisticated tastes. Selecting the second, you search the drawers for a corkscrew, cutlery jostling together loudly as you roll drawers open and closed again. “Sorry if I’m a little - “ You witter nervously. Every time you look over she’s still staring and _God you’re throbbing._

Finding what you need, you peel away the metal taping and screw the twirly bit into the cork with some gusto praying you don't slice your hand open or something because she’s watching. 

“I take it you’re not a virgin.” Miss Venable says plainly, half stating half enquiring, but needing confirmation. She should’ve thought of that, its never been a question before but given your age -

“What? No.” You’ve never met someone so abrupt. Your cheeks redden either way.

Miss Venable turns her head, muttering to herself as she lowers herself carefully onto a pale blue velvet chaise longue. “Lets be grateful I don't have to teach you _that_ as well.” Its antique looking, and you would have expected it to be purple, from what you know of her, but somehow amongst the white and grey it adds a touch of glamour to the otherwise post-modern minimalist look.

The cork pops out the bottle neck, and you miss her words a little. “Sorry?” You say across the room, visually searching the shelves for a glass of some sort.

“Come and sit.” Her hand pats the chaise next to her.

You fill your glass and gladly do as instructed, feeling like another version of yourself - someone successful and mature being here, being noticed by a woman like her. Clenching your thighs together, you perch yourself near her, but not too close, taking a sip of the wine and smiling. “Your apartment is amazing,” You start, needing something to say. _Compliment her._ “Where do you work - Wilhemina, do people call you _Wilhemina_? It's unusual.”

“Its _old-fashioned.”_ She corrects you. “And no, Mina is fine.” With no drink in her hand she has only her cane to keep her calm, her other hand resting idly in her lap. _Don't rush her_. She has to remind herself, but the waiting is grating on her.

“Like in Dracula,” You laugh lightly, needing something interesting and exciting to say.

She frowns, bemused. “What is?”

“Your name. Like Mina Harker. She’s a character in Dracula, Jonathan Harker’s fiancee - or wife, I don't remember.”

Miss Venable tries to calm her irritation, her thumb tapping her skirt quietly. “I see.”

You blush and stare at your lap. “Sorry.”

She taps her cane. “Drink the wine,” She sighs at you, you’re too nervous to be of any use just yet.

“Yes.” You nod and quickly take a gulp, smiling back at her as best you can. She was just, beautiful, and articulate and purple, _very,_ purple but she’d waited for you and there must be a reason. _Keep a hold of yourself._

Wilhemina tries her best at making conversation, something she wasn’t very good at. “People usually call me Miss Venable.”

You take another quick gulp of wine as though it were lemonade. “Thats very official.”

You get to your feet and return to the kitchen for the wine bottle, a good 3/4 full of course, pouring more into your glass as you walk then carefully setting it down on the floor before you sit back down. You notice little indentations in the wood, and glance to her, thinking it must be the cane. You wonder if its too early to ask about it. You seem to wriggle restlessly, stretching and clicking your toes then tucking your feet under in embarrassment.

“I don’t have many - _acquaintances,_ ” Wilhemina chooses her words carefully, the latin archaic sound to it causing less ripples through her psyche than saying the more modern term _friends_ , or that she has none. Admitting as such is unsettling, and she’s unsure what makes her say it to you. You’re nobody. Why let you in on such details?

You want to be surprised at this, but somehow, you’re not. “Me neither,” You confess quietly, wondering if being in the same boat gives you some mutual understanding, something in common that she will appreciate, or if it makes you less of an appealing bedfellow.

“What does purpose, feel like to you?” Miss Venable posits, leaning back on the cushions observing you; the way your eyes dart when you’re uncomfortable, put on the spot and made to talk about yourself. Or how you keep changing position, tucking your ankles under one minute, then stretching them out the next. _This was more than nervousness_ , her eyes narrow skeptically.

Your fingers tap the wine glass, chuckling in avoidance. “Thats a very philosophical question.”

Wilhemina takes the wine glass from your hands abruptly, putting it to the other side of her demanding your full attention, no matter what you were feeling like. “You said you were looking for purpose. For meaning in a chaotic world. So I’m asking you, _what that would look like_.”

Your hands flap and clap together with nothing to hold on to. “I don’t know.” You mumble, wondering if this late night date was turning into a therapy session. “I guess, not doing something just for myself. But that I study and get good grades and someone besides my lecturers _want_ me to. That someone cares, and I do what I do for them. That working and studying isn't all there is but theres some reason behind it all _why I’m doing it,_ and I don't mean a swanky job but that if I _didn't_ do it, it wouldn’t just go unnoticed but -”

“You’d get punished.”

Her words hang in the air between you. You feel as if your whole body freezes, your joints seizing as though they lacked oxygen, or the will to move, that your brain simply couldn’t manage blood flow to your whole body when it was instantly redirected between your legs. Your lips part, and you blush heavily, unable to say anything.

Miss Venable sucks her lower lip in, pleased with your reaction. Her words carried weight, and meaning far deeper than simple teasing, you looked like they punched you in the gut and knocked you in a magnetic tailspin. _She was getting somewhere_. 

You finally find a response, and murmur it with a hopeful lift to the words. “Or pleasured?”

She smirks. “Only if you were good.” Miss Venable twists her grip on her cane slowly, the leather tightening on her skin.

A tense laugh fights from your throat and you’re forced to let it free, the anxiety in your body unbearable. “Thats, super kinky,” You laugh in amazement.

She lays her arm along the back of the chaise and teases the ends of your hair between her fingers. “Oh, you have _no idea.”_

It feels affectionate, though it kept a distance between you still. This was some sexy flirting but you know if you say the wrong thing it will all come crashing down in an instant. “Is that, your thing?”

Miss Venable feels her way through your hair and brushes the tips of her fingers across the nape of your neck. “Are you going to run away if I say yes?”

You shake you head mutely.

“Then yes.” Her fingers still, grip the back of your neck with a gentle _but intentional_ pressure. Everything tightens, your toes, your thighs, your core. As if her touch beckons an obedience in you you barely knew was there. Your lower your head a touch, lean it to one side appreciating the feeling of her grasp and how it feels to move against it. This was the hottest thing you’d ever felt, her command absolute and yet barely there. “And I think its yours, too,” She tells you, as if breaking a news to you you hadn’t fully realised. 

You stare away. You met this woman mere hours ago and yet you’re having one of the deepest conversations of your life. “I’ve never even told anyone that,” You whisper, feeling worryingly exposed. “How would you … I mean,” What else did she know about you? Were your proclivities so obvious? Her touch softens, just rubbing her thumb on your neck for a moment before dropping her hand away.

The sudden absence of her touch makes your skin cool, and your head snaps around to her, wanting it back. Wilhemina holds her smile to herself, _you were surpassing every test_. “You undid you hair. And you unbuckled my shoes,” She said candidly.

“Well you told me to -“ You protest, how did this tell her anything?

 _“Yes,”_ Miss Venable presses on her cane enough to shift closer to you on the chaise, and puts her hand firmly on your thigh demanding this part of you to the surface. “You did as you were told almost immediately, its a sense, like any other sort of attraction. You understood my position, and I understood yours.” You search her eyes, wanting more of an explanation. Things like this didn't just _happen,_ there had to be something more, something, that wasn’t random chance. She was gorgeous and smart and oozed a sexual confidence that had instantly caught you, but she was also somehow incredibly perceptive and quick, able to read you unlike anyone you’d ever met. It was as if the petty trappings of life, things that people quarrelled over or that some tried to build connection on; what bands you liked or your favourite type of Italian food, none of it mattered to her. _She’d seen you._ “Its the most natural thing in the world.”

You peer at her hand on your tights and it makes you smirk thinking that her purple compliments your grey-black neutral tones quite nicely. You want to hold her hand, put yours over hers make some sort of, statement that you get it, but you’re not sure she's that sort of woman, even if she did seem quite giving with her touch - but perhaps that was more purposeful that you’d thought. “Oh I know I’m not ashamed or anything, I mean who doesn’t like being told what to do right?”

The seriousness in her expression doesn’t fade. “A lot of people.” Miss Venable retracts her hand slowly, sitting as straight as her back would allow her. She found it always easier to tilt her head a touch, as though pensive, when really the habit had been borne out of the propensity to want to ease her back pain. “But some people, _do.”_

Miss Venable said nothing as she did it, moving her cane to the other side of her knees and angling it against the chaise so it rested safely on its own. Bunching her skirt in her hands she slowly dragged the long lilac material up her calves, over her knees yanking it higher to bring it all the way up her thighs to the tops of her stockings, where your eyes were now fixed on the little clips that attached her stockings to garters. You’d never known anyone wear such things in real life, it was stunningly erotic, but completely fitting. “What are you doing?” Your words shudder breathily as your heart quickens. _This was, wow._

She removes her glasses, sets them on the coffee table neatly then lets her eyes fall to her thighs, what she's giving you, then they lift to you. “Laying down the gauntlet.” Though Wilhemina's voice is husky, she still has perfect elocution. You turn you knees in, needing to clench your core feeling yourself light up to her words.

You can only hold your nerve so long - if you think about it any more you’ll faint. So you just, _do it._ Reaching your hand out, the movement tentative, you keep your eyes in hers waiting for that moment - for her to tell you _what the hell are you doing_ , but it doesn’t come. So you fiddle to clip, attempt to undo her stockings, but the angle is awkward and you’re forced to actually look at what you’re doing and concentrate, you could barely feel your fingers. Miss Venable lays her hand over yours, stilling you. “Its easier if you kneel down sweetheart.”

The affectionate sobriquet creates a tingle up your spine thats impossible to ignore. You glance to her needing affirmation thats what she wants, and she nods at you, silently willing you to do it. Her instincts had played her well tonight, you were turning out to be far more than she could've hoped for. You slip from the chaise to the floor, kneeling down one knee at a time and positioning yourself in front of her, reaching back up to unclip her stockings - it is indeed much easier at a vertical angle, and perhaps, because you knew for certain its what she wanted.

It felt easier, not needing to anticipate and work her inclinations out for yourself; each person had their own likes and dislikes when it came to sexual interactions and the possibilities were endless. But Wilhemina Venable was quite comfortable directing you, and that dampened your fears enough you were able to believe you could do this, that you were what she wanted.

You unclip the stocking on her other leg, and while waiting for her to stop you, checking back up every few moments, you peel the soft silky material from her thighs, under her knee and down her calf. Miss Venable lifts her toes off the floor allowing you to remove them entirely, biting her bottom lip to restrain herself from smiling. _You were enjoying this._ She parts her knees daringly, inching her hips closer to the edge of the chaise and you move in closer, running your hands up the outside of her thighs. Mink coloured silk panties stare back at you, and without thinking you urge yourself against her, dipping your head between her legs about to kiss her there, your arm hooking under one of her thighs and lifting it over your shoulder.

Miss Venable catches her breath, gasping in anticipation - but then you pause. She lets out her breath and stares at you. “I feel like I need to ask permission …,” You sound guilty, as if you were about to take something for yourself, a privilege that hadn’t yet been granted you.

An impressed chuckle sighs from Wilhemina’s lips, _you were perfect_. “It would be the polite thing to do.”

You grin, asking the woman from between her thighs. “May I kiss you?”

She indulges herself momentarily, playing her fingers through your mussed hair before closing her fingers into a fist knotting her fingers tightly making your hair pull on your scalp. “You’ll do more than that,” Miss Venable growls, bringing your mouth to her centre with a confirmatory tug.

Your face collides with her panties, and you waste no time in kissing the material as your hands reach under her hips and scrabble to get the them out of your way, yanking them from under her. Hurrying to pull them down out of your way you’re on her again, kissing her softness and nuzzling under the soft bed of curls to find her centre. You lap your tongue through her folds with as much confidence as you can muster.

Wilhemina closes her eyes and tries to go with the flow, let her body speak to you where her words are lost. She didn’t like one-night stands for this reason, the inevitability that her chosen lover would want to have sex and not just play games. For you, she understands its importance, you’re going to be more than just tonight and you’re an anxious little thing that needs the reassurance of her attraction to you. She tells herself to relax, enjoy the feelings and give you what you need, before she can take what _she needs_.

To anyone else this _would be_ her pleasure; you’re getting no physical gratification from it only the knowledge that _she's_ enjoying it, but Wilhemina knows she struggles like this, her need to control ever present and soon you’ll be able to tell if she doesn’t stop her mind from thinking and _just relax._ Her body will physically respond like anyone else if she lets it, and the last thing she needs is to feed your insecurities now by not getting wet for you.

So she opens her eyes, and stares out the window to the darkness of the city breathing out a long slow breath trying to forget her pain and self-doubt and remember that this is worth it, for the potential she's found in you.

You lap and suck reverently between her legs, your knees scrabbling on the wood as you press yourself tighter and closer in breathing her in; she's musky and sweet, and for all your fears about not being _good enough_ , you’ve found your stride. You feel the spasm to the muscles inside her thigh, the way she presses her leg down onto your shoulder needing to straighten it as her insides twist and tense. Every so often you peek up from under the depths of her skirt, you want to see her expression, as though this will tell you more than her moist centre is, but each time you try she grounds her finger into your scalp jerking you back to work.

Such a strong woman she was, even now in the throes of sex she’s commanding you, but then thats what she likes and you’re learning by the second that she was right. _You do too_. Maybe its just her, or maybe you were always going to be discontent with anything _but_ this. For you’ve never felt such security as this when it came to past lovers.

Curling two fingers at her entrance, she hisses a breath in and you know she's close. Wilhemina clamps her eyes shut, her breathing hastening and her mind on over-drive. _Just come, just come -_ she begs herself and as she feels the familiar glow wash through her senses, her tendons and muscle relaxing from their taut contractions, she pants thankfully. For more was riding on this that just your personal satisfaction at doing a good job.

You laugh happily, catching your breath as she liberates your hair from the confines of her fist and you’re able to sit back on your heels, vaguely wiping your mouth on the back of your hand. You’re pink from the exertion, almost the same colour as her skirt and you’re waiting for her to say something, to turn her gaze to you.

The minutes pass and Miss Venable says nothing.

She needs to reset the orderliness of her mind, straighten things out until she felt completely in control again. She couldn’t _wouldn’t_ give an inch of herself to you, not yet. “Did I, do something wrong?” You break the silence finally, your elation having all but evaporated from your body, your own throbbing dying down, but still flickering like the embers of a fire that need stoking and refuelling. It wasn’t going to go out any time soon. You try and catch her eye but she refuses, staring stubbornly out the window.

Finally, she leans sideways across the chaise and brings her cane back in hand. “Wash yourself up. The bathroom is through there,” Wilhemina gestures to the door behind her, her features stoic and still as she eventually brings her eyes to you.

Your whole mood plummets, your shoulders slumping as you wonder what went wrong. “Um, okay,” You pat your legs as you roll your weight back and lean on the coffee table to stand. Just as you’re about to step off and leave her, her hand flies out and snatches your wrist halting you before you start.

“ _Yes, Miss Venable_ , is what you say,” She says slowly, gripping your wrist with changing pressure, initially just soft strokes of her thumb over your pulse, then tighter, the leather of her gloves rubbing across your wrist bone. “When we’re having sex, when I’m punishing you, its what you say.” You start to comprehend what this means, why she hadn’t drawn you lovingly into her arms after what you’d felt was _incredible sex;_ because for her, you weren’t done. You _did_ need to learn what she desired after all, it simply, came a step at a time. Sex wasn’t as meaningful to her as it was to you, or perhaps compared to other women you had (briefly) seen. But then again, nothing about Wilhemina Venable was like other women, she was unique and complicated and you decide already in that moment you will do whatever it takes to earn her trust, to be with her. When she looks up at you, its the first and only time that night you see a glassiness to her eyes, a flash of vulnerability. “Can you do that?”

The room is absolutely still, the air heavy as if the room itself knew the poignancy of this moment, the words tumbling obediently from your lips for the very first time. “Yes, Miss Venable.”


	3. Chapter 3

Having washed your face and hands, you dry them on a fluffy lilac towel, the colour becoming familiar and somehow comforting to you that her peculiar obsession carried on through towels and bars of lavender soap.

Returning from the bathroom, she's already left the chaise, righted her clothes, and is waiting for you in a doorway across the apartment, as if nothing has yet happened that would ruffle even the slightest feather in her well preened exterior.

You cross the room to her, your steps slowing as you near. Her posture is so correct and tall, even with the slight hunch she does to the side angling her body just so to lean on her cane. It makes you feel like you should curl smaller, stuff your hands in the back pockets of your jeans like a teenager.

“Everything alright?” You ask carefully, your tights sliding a little on the wood as you pause in front of her, half looking at your feet because she is so calm and quiet its disconcerting. “…Miss Venable,” You slowly add, feeling your way into the rhythm of it. It feels odd addressing her like that when you’ve just been between her thighs licking her clit to a pulsating high, but nothing about tonight makes sense.

Does it have to make sense though? It just feels, _right,_ and you don't want to overthink it.

Your effort makes the corner of her lips twitch, but they don’t let loose a smile. “You haven't done anything wrong,” She says emphatically, bringing back your question from earlier, when she had barely reacted to having had sex or even orgasming. “Nothing about tonight is, punishment for you. I don’t want you going from here believing that.” She makes certain you don't just listen, but you really hear her. “In fact you’ve exceeded my every expectation. So far.” Miss Venable steps closer to you, closer than was typically deemed social or polite. You stand your ground and savour the proximity, watching her chest rise and fall, feel the flow of her breath on your skin. She keeps her head high, stoical, looking down on you with purposeful dominance. “But I didn't bring you here simply for casual sex.” Her cane clacks determinedly. _She will have you tonight_. “I find release in, all manner of other ways.” Theres a wicked gleam in her dark eyes and you don’t dare imagine what thoughts she has running through her mind.

You draw back, relenting the space to her, rubbing your fingers anxiously clutching them together at your waist, letting her talk. “Okay.” It feels all of a sudden like an obscure job interview.

“ _This_ is what I want.” Miss Venable gestures inside her bedroom, resolute. “But I will not force you to come inside. You can still walk away.”

You determinedly shake your head. “No, I want to.”

Miss Venable breaths warmly, relaxing her features just enough that a natural smile is permitted to shine through, just for a moment. Part of you wonders if she knew she was letting such an honest reaction free, or if it slipped out by mistake. It seems so _genuine,_ and yet everything you have seen of her so far tonight has only been shown to you with particular consideration, to elicit the response in you she desires.

Flicking her pony tail over one shoulder, she continues with a bounce of confidence. “Before you come in, you’re to take off your clothes, and leave them by the door. This is _my,_ bedroom. My rules.” She slows down dramatically, her tone firm. “You will not be sleeping in my bed.”

You blink at the rule. You hadn’t gotten anywhere near that far in your thought process. “I don’t - I mean I wasn’t expecting to stay over even, I don't know what I was- “ You hurry to say, let her know that whatever she decides is okay, its her apartment and you’re _definitely_ there on her terms.

“Not unless you deserve it,” Miss Venable adds a beat after, enjoying the way she can shock you into such beautiful submission. “That, like everything in this world needs to be earned.”

You nod. “Yes Miss Venable.”

This time, she smirks. You didn't seem to have any qualms about using the more respectful moniker, in fact you were taking right to it. “I hope you’re up to the challenge.” Miss Venable turns slowly and stalks into the bedroom out of your line of sight.

Your puff a breath, ruffling your hand through your hair and wondering what was going to happen if you went in. She was being overly opaque, probably some sort of test to see if you trusted her, or if you really wanted this enough that you were willing to take the blind step into boundless oblivion.

Glancing over your shoulder briefly, you notice your shoulder bag still abandoned in the centre of her floor, your boots beside it. A flash of feeling reminds itself around your body, how instinctive it had been to undo her shoes, kneeling at her feet - her hand had kept you there and you’d felt _incredible._ You wanted that again.

You pop the button of your jean shorts and shove them down, tights and panties in one go, pausing almost instantly wondering if she had meant underwear too. Surely she did, but then what if you walked in there butt naked and her reaction was less than savoury? Would Miss Venable deem you too bold?

 _Get on with it._ You tap your foot agitatedly and you throw your caution out the window. Miss Venable didn’t have time for your anxieties, you had to find the courage to walk in there. You wanted her. _You wanted her to want you._ So you tug your tights from your toes and then unbutton the work-demanded black shirt, unclip your bra and let everything fall into a pile, kicking it to one side of the door with your foot.

You peer around the doorframe, your arm folding self-consciously over your chest.

Miss Venable is at the end of a large double bed, her hands settled on her cane held squarely in front of her. Her features are passive, saying nothing, as you pad gingerly into her bedroom, unable to even enjoy the fact you’re in there because you’re bare all over and she is fully clothed and nothing says power dynamic more than that. “I’m pleased with your decision.” She beckons you over. “Don’t be shy. Let me see you.”

You wander over, still with your arms up and crossed feeling vulnerable but hideously aroused at the same time. She reaches her hand to yours, gently pushing them down. Your confidence is only tentative, but with her encouragement you let your arms go and give her all of you. A heated hunger grows in Miss Venable, her fingers quivering as she lets herself ghost her hand over your abdomen, flattening her palm against your skin.

Indulging herself quietly, she grazes her fingers up and over your breast, rolling it over your nipple making it peak for attention. You blush deeply, her wandering eyes eating up every inch of you.

Your nerves are wrought; this is more than you’ve ever experienced like this, your ideas of such bedroom games were consigned to a few elicit thoughts alone in bed at night. But really experiencing it, theres something so inexplicably holy about it. Her adoration of you, your feeding off her power. You don't know what drives you to do it, but you fall to your knees, just, _overcome_. You’ve just met, you need to be told its okay. “Tell me what you want me to do,” You beg softly, letting yourself give in to this feeling, what its like to put yourself at someones mercy, even symbolically, for she hadn’t asked you to, it just felt like _the right thing todo._

Your emotions storming your mind and wetting your voice with need. _You want this. You've always wanted this._

Miss Venable stares, her eyes widening in astonishment. _Was she really seeing this? You were kneeling, begging._ To discover such need in another was, rare. You weren’t putting on an act, or playing with her. It was honest.

You anxiously rub the heel of your hand across both eyes smearing your tears away, you don't want her to see them. She shifts her weight forward, leaning down using only her cane for balance, and strokes your cheek softly, coaxing you to look up. You follow her touch, sniffing. “Ssshh…” Wilhemina hushes you knowing she has found something rare and fragile, that can be moulded and perfected into something exquisite. You nod, puffing a short breath telling her you’re okay. 

She takes a half-step back and gestures to the bed. “Sit down, sweetheart. Just there.” You nod, and rise to your feet for the few steps over to the bed, sitting on the end of her divinely soft bedspread, rubbing your hands back and forth over the fleecy softness. She walks stiffly beside you, stepping one foot between yours so she is either side of your leg, straddling your thigh though remaining standing. “Now lie back, keep your legs over the edge, _yes,_ good,” Miss Venable continues to instruct, as you clear your mind and give yourself over to her demands.

It feels, liberating, to be so in the moment. You don't know what time it is or what lectures you have in the morning, nothing is in your mind nothing is worrying you. The peace from the constant stream of noise in your head is like a serenity you’ve not felt before. Just, silence.

Save for your heartbeat in your ears and the slow pulse between your thighs.

“Try not to scream, I’ve already had to move house once,” Wilhemina slurs amusedly, as though such things as girls screaming in her bedroom were a regular occurrence and an inconvenience to all involved. 

You’re just re-focusing your eyes to sit up on your elbows, pondering her statement as you see her hand raise and snap back down, the sudden sting across the tops of your thighs blinding your nerve endings. “Ohh _Fuck_! “ She's whipped you with something thin and crop-like, the glaring red line across your flesh fresh and raw.

“Cursing is also not a preferred response,” Miss Venable says dryly, narrowing her eyes at you.

You puff at her. “Well you didn't say you were going to - “

“I wanted to see how you reacted.” She knows her approach isn't strictly protocol, theres so much to be said for safe conduct and total disclosure but she's almost made it clear you’re free to leave at any time. Your self-induced kneeling had been consent enough as far as she was concerned. “Shall I continue?” You hear her but don't immediately answer, your fingers are tracing the line she's made in quiet amazement.

You bite your lip then and look up to her, your smile bashful, but definite. “Yes, Miss Venable.”

Her eyebrow quirks, pleased. “I thought so.” She waits for you to lie back again, and proceeds to cane you again, across the tops of your thighs two, three more times before she pauses. You fight to catch your breath the stings are so hot they feel like they're bleeding, but theres nothing there, its just your nerve fibres confusing themselves at the sudden new sensation they're have to compute.

Then you feel something else, the brush of her fingers between your thighs and your head jerks up. Her correction is quick - her eyes flashing at you. You flop back down on the bed the anticipatory tingling in your clit heady and instant. Miss Venable plays two fingers through your folds, encouraging your wetness and you swear you almost tense and come just at this. Your knees bend up and your toes curl, a whine bleeding from your lips.

Miss Venable chuckles at you. “Oh no, not yet. We’ve barely started.”

You stare wide eyed at her, but your shock isn't given time to settle because she whips you again, for a fourth, then fifth time. You yelp on this last one, the lines of her cane starting to cross one another creating points of double-pressure where the lines intersect, but then her fingers are on you again and curling inside you just an inch.

“God please- “ You mutter without meaning to, you’re so aroused and she's playing you just perfectly.

“Dear _me,_ ” Wilhemina crows, abandoning what she's doing and instead yanks your ankle out of the blue, her nails making indentations in your skin she's grabbing it so forcefully shifting it to the corner of the bed. You sit half up wondering not for the first time what she means. “You need some self control.”

She straps a velcro restraint around you ankle, apparently tucked under the mattress. _Because of course._ You blink at the black strap giving it a gentle yank as she adjusts the length of what she will allow you.

Your eyes follow her as she steps out along the end of the bed and does the same for your other ankle, requiring you to shift down the bed a bit to reach both corners with your feet. Giving each ankle a tug you burn instantly hotter; you can't bring your legs together, you can’t squeeze your muscles or even give yourself the slightest of nudges to relieve the aching, your thighs splayed open and your gleamingly slick wet centre exposed to her. “Miss Venable…,” You mutter not knowing what you really need to say, you just collapse your shoulders on the bed and watch as she arranges herself neatly beside you, bringing one knee up and letting the other stay to the floor, her cane forever in her hand as though the world might fall away without it.

You can’t believe she's as fully dressed as she was in the bar, she’s not even removed her blazer and you’re here legs spread eagled on the bed desperately awaiting her touch.

Miss Venable looks as though she could be at the office, she sits so still as she examines what she has in front of her, before unclipping the cuff of her gloves and removing one, laying it on her nightstand. Her hand is free now to play with you, stroking her fingers the full length of your thigh, from knee to centre - she pinches your clit and your hips buck, finding the restraints unforgiving.

You whimper hungrily. “Please - yes …”

She starts to circle your clit then, brushing it here and there then returning to circling, drawing out a deep ache from your belly that isn't one of simple _flick and you’re done motions_ ; but slow and burning, your urge emerging from somewhere almost ancient and deep in your psyche, as though todays quick fixes of vibrators and toys misunderstood the art of what energy she could create. “I’m not going to make this easy, you do understand that.” Miss Venable talks calmly, carefully, at odds withs the way your whole body is trembling beneath her hand. “You come only when I tell you sweetheart, not before.” 

You’re already struggling. “And if, I do by accident?”

Her hand is gone, and you stare at her folding it idly in her lap inspecting her nail polish as though she had nothing better to do. “Then we sit here and wait, and see if the absence of my touch is enough to teach you to hold your nerve.”

“Fuck please, Miss Venable - “ You gasp the words needing her on you again. She tilts her head and waits a beat as if considering you words, bunching her lips before she speaks.

Miss Venable presses on her hands to bring her hips further into the bed, nearer to you, peering down at you and your parted panting lips. “You like calling me that, don't you?”

Your head nods obediently, instantly. “Yes,” You whimper. Then you feel it, her fingers on your aching clit and you groan happily. “Thank you …”Her nails dig into your labia piercingly. “Miss Venable!” You shriek at the pain your manners hurrying themselves quickly into life. “Thank you Miss Venable - _shit …,”_ You mewl as she lets go again and the blood rushes back through the near-tears she has pressed into your sensitive flesh with just her nails.

“You’re a remarkably quick learner,” Miss Venable observes to you, gently working her fingers around your centre, circling you and then pushing inside you with two fingers, pulling a groan from your lungs. She pumps her fingers deep inside you as if reaching as high as she can, right up to her knuckles and you swear you’ve never felt so filled, _whole._

“It’s obvious when I’ve made a mistake though - what you want,” You words moan as your body writhes and moves to her touch, she’s playing your urges like a musical piece, teasing and light then firmer and deeper.

“Such instincts are not as common as you may think,” Wilhemina chat away as if not even breaking a sweat. She’s utterly composed and in control and watching you come undone is delightfully pleasing. “You wouldn’t believe the evenings I’ve _wasted …,”_ She complains, not commenting on how your hips lift trying to find her touch make it firmer needing more, harder. _You were getting close._

“I’m sorry I just need practice,” You whine quickly, unable to hide your sudden panic at thinking you’re going to be another one of those evenings for her, a waste of time, that you’ve got no experience and you're busy with college and how could you hold the interest of woman like Wilhemina Venable. You turn your head to her, your hair knotting as it slides around on the fleece. “I’ll get better at it - “

Her fingers slow momentarily, turning her gaze up to your face catching your desperate eyes, understanding how you’d read her words. “Oh I didn't mean you, sweetheart. You’re quite the natural.” She gives you a small smile, then turns her attention back to your aching clit.

“Thank you Miss Venable,” You suck a breath in as your stomach clenches, a sign Miss Venable does not miss.

“Don’t - “ She snaps warningly, watching your abdominals relax again as the immediacy of your need dissipates again. Wilhemina has found your peak, _now to play with it._

You flop both your arms over your face in morbid embarrassment. You had no idea what you looked like when you came but you’re sure its not pretty like in movies.

“Only when I tell you,” She recommences her demanding rhythm, rubbing the pad of her thumb over your clit to hook her fingers just inside your entrance, pulsing both together each thrust of her fingers inside you pressing her thumb nail into your clit and the agony is _beautiful._

“I know -“ You pant.“I won’t I swear - “ Though you’re not sure about that at all, there’s only so much control you can have over your body when she's doing _this_. You buck and gasp, your knees bending up your stomach clenching as your insides tighten - but are met by the resistance from the restraints and _fuck its even better even more being held._ You’d almost forgotten they were there and you cant even clench your muscles. It inexplicably arouses you even more.

And like that, her hand is gone. Your insides are pulsing and your clit is throbbing and her touch is nowhere to be felt. You blink your eyes open at her imploring her in despair.

Miss Venable raises her eyebrows at you. “Did I stutter my instructions?” Her piercingly cool tone sends goosebumps through your body. You shake your head, just tiny quivering movements. “Then why are you giving in to it?”

Theres no answer you can find that explains it other than this is the hottest woman you’ve ever been in bed with and she's strong and demanding and dominating and its utterly impossible to control yourself. “I-I …”

The feelings between your legs are not contained just there, its like electrical currents are sparking through your limbs needing somewhere to go, the energy crackling, and you don't want it to leave you. “Have some self control,” Miss Venable commands you with a sternness to her voice that makes your toes curl, and throb even harder.

“Jesus …,” You groan in complaint.

Miss Venable huffs. “I’m afraid he's not in charge here.” A gentle stroke through your wetness makes you gasp.“Are you going to be good?”

“Yes … yes Miss Venable,” You nod desperately making her look at you needing her to see you mean it. You’ll do anything for her to believe you.

She decided to reserve judgement. Its all a game of course, a gentle tuition to teach you what she enjoys. Its not about whether you manage to restrain yourself or not, its how far you’re willing to push yourself, how hard you try to please her. To put yourself somewhere painful against your own will purely because she tells you to.

Wilhemina gives your clit a playful pinch, then starts building your orgasm nicely once again, circling the swollen nub of nerves, rubbing inside your walls knowing this time she’ll let you. Its been instructive enough, and she doesn’t want your first experience to be feeling like you’ve failed her.

She pumps her fingers and you grind your hips against the feeling, the restraints tugging your ankles. Your breathing is fast and shallow, your eyes rolling back as you try not to give in to what your body is crying out. Its almost painful, but its wonderful, and you feel the peak approaching, your sense climbing - you push back and resist. _Don’t, don’t,_ you’re telling yourself. _Wait._

 _“Good girl_ ,” Miss Venable breathes softly, clamping her thumb onto your clit pressing down hard, opening the flood gates of sensation to wash through your body. “Come for me,” She whispers, and you cry out a strangled noise as your hips give, your muscles break and you clench on her fingers, coming with shuddering need.

You feel her slide her fingers straight out, not giving your muscles even second to ease and the sudden emptiness makes them spasm. You want to close your legs and roll over, groaning as your ankles snap against the restraints, unable to. Miss Venable leans to her nightstand, opening the single drawer there and swipes a few baby wipes from the packet, cleaning her fingers with such a relaxed manner its obvious she's done that before.

Leaving you spread on the bed, Miss Venable shifts herself to the edge and pushes on her cane, bringing herself to feet and starts to silently change out of her clothes into a nightdress and silk robe, not looking at you and not saying anything. You barely realise she's left the bed, your mind in another universe somewhere as you come down, twitching through the after shocks of the hardest orgasm you’ve ever felt. Its overwhelming, this, her, all of it. Your legs jerk at the black restraints and part of you wants to sit up and undo them so you can curl over, you feel tears welling in your eyes and you’re shaking your head, you don't want her to see how affected you are. “Please,” You mumble wetly, trying to curl over and whining because you can’t.

You feel the brush of her touch over your ankle, and she leans her knee on the bed to balance herself needing to let go of her cane and use both hands to untie you. As soon as your foot is free it snaps up to your waist, then other doing the same and you curl into a ball, the aching over the tops of your thighs like you’ve been on a 20mile bike ride.

Miss Venable stares at you for a few moments, wondering why you’re behaving so. Her fingers curl over the top of her cane as she tries to assess her own feelings. Did she want to let you in? Did she, _feel_ something too?

Her eyes dart nervously around her bedroom, wanting to not feel it. Wanting to chalk it all up as another failed night, something that had been fun and light but ultimately not good enough. Miss Venable knew her standards.

She draws the sides of her pale mink robe tighter around her body, daring herself to put her toe to the water. You had met her need for need. The prospect of, actually finding someone she liked, scared her. If she liked you, _if,_ she liked you, it would be letting you in, risking herself, _emotionally_.

What happened when you see her back and recoil from her deformed discoloured spine in disgust?

Wilhemina casts her eyes away, then back to you, hearing your sniffling and she rolls her eyes at herself. _She wanted to hold you._

She pads across the room slowly, balancing her cane on her nightstand as she sits on the side of the bed and slides her hips back. She plumps up the pillows behind her into a therapeutic V shape,letting her legs stay long, just crossing her ankles. She nudges you with her toe. “Sweetheart,” Wilhemina murmurs softly. You lift your head, rubbing your eyes in to the bedspread. You were a mess, and you were mortified. “Come here.” She opens one arm and beckons you up to her. Wilhemina had no idea what she was doing, why she felt her heart caring for how you felt. She’d not even asked your name.

You bid your limbs to do as they're told, unfurling yourself and shimmying up the bed, curling into her laying your head on her lap without being told you could. But its what you need. Wilhemina stares down at you, how naturally you seem to take to her. You ask nothing from her, simply, accept her. Her hand hovers in mid-air. She knows what people do here, what she _should_ do, but she’s never …cared for anyone before.

You close your eyes, draping your arm over her thighs playing with the hem of her silk robe between your fingers. You felt more connected to her than you had to anyone, but crying? You felt absurd. But then, her arm lays protectively over your shoulders. Her fingers brush back and forth on your skin gently and your self-depreciating fears calm. Your breath sighs contently out of you.

Wilhemina tries not to move. Though it feels alien holding you, the warmth of your body against hers is _extraordinary_ and she doesn't want you to open your eyes, move away. She drags her fingers in slow patterns over your shoulder, daring herself to just, learn. _Enjoy it._ You’re not asking anything more from her and she's not being forced to reveal anything she doesn’t want. You’re content just like this. She tells herself if you are, then maybe she can be content too. 

Wilhemina feels something blossom inside her chest, and catches herself in a smile.


End file.
